


Delighting and satisfying our customers

by keysmash



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Community: salt_burn_porn, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Massage
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-03-09
Updated: 2010-03-09
Packaged: 2017-10-07 20:16:12
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,474
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/68839
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/keysmash/pseuds/keysmash
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dean's done some embarrassing things in the name of finishing a job, but they always turn out to be worth it.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Delighting and satisfying our customers

**Author's Note:**

> Written for [](http://community.livejournal.com/salt_burn_porn/profile)[**salt_burn_porn**](http://community.livejournal.com/salt_burn_porn/), for [](http://lazy-daze.livejournal.com/profile)[**lazy_daze**](http://lazy-daze.livejournal.com/)'s prompt "happy ending." Title adapted from one of Whole Food's core values. Spoilers for 514.

Dean was halfway through telling Sam what he'd found — most of the store turned up nothing, but the EMF reader went crazy near the deli — when Sam cut his eyes to the side and shook his head, just slightly. Dean turned and saw a middle-aged guy frowning at the the two of them, and coming closer. He was wearing the same tee shirt as all the other employees Dean had seen, but between the clipboard tucked under one arm and the walkie talkie clipped to his belt, Dean guessed he was management.

"Hi," he said, when he reached them, and held a hand out to Sam. Sam shook, smiling at him, and Dean kept his own hands near his pockets. "They said in the office we had a new massage specialist coming in today, so I thought I'd come introduce myself. I'm Clarence, and I'll be the manager on duty for the next —" He checked his watch. "Five hours and forty-two minutes."

"Andrew," Sam said. "Nice to meet you."

"Uh huh." Clarence checked his clipboard for something, then looked back up. "Are you new with the agency?"

"Yeah." Sam nodded. "Just finished getting licensed last week. This is the first job they've given me, actually. I'm excited to be here."

"Mmm." Clarence glanced at Dean, who grinned at him, sort of. He was just playing a customer today, and didn't have to do things like suck up to his corporate betters. "And you're his first client of the day? Great, great."

"Uh, no." Dean had done some embarrassing things in the name of finishing a job, but if he could avoid it, he wasn't going to fold himself into the stupid traveling massage chair Sam picked up from a medical supply store that morning and get a massage, fully dressed, from his brother in the back corner of a coffee shop in a — haunted — grocery store that specialized in selling overpriced organic crap to yuppies who thought it made them environmentally conscious or whatever. "No, he and I were only talking about —"

"Would you mind if I have a word with Andrew, then?" Clarence said, smiling and then immediately turning his back on Dean, trying to cut him out of the conversation. Dean could hear him anyway: "Maybe no one's explained how things work around here, but we're not paying the agency for you to stand around and talk. If you don't have anyone to work on, then you sit with your chair and look inviting, not busy. If I have to come back and tell you again, then you'll be done here. I'll put you on our do-not-send list with the agency, and you can imagine how that'll help your chances of getting contracts anywhere else."

Sam was nodding, looking suitably dressed down, and Dean rolled his eyes. The thing was, they couldn't afford for Sam to be on this guy's bad side. He needed to be able to wander around the employees-only areas later that day, pretending to be lost, and it wouldn't help to have anyone already keeping an eye on him. Dammit.

"We were talking about whether he'd honor the appointment I made with the girl that was here last week," Dean said. "I got the dates mixed up and came in a day early."

"Ah," Clarence said, turning back to smile at Dean. "Great." He looked around the cafe, which was emptier than Dean would have expected for the middle of the morning, and then smiled at him again. "I think you're in luck, because it looks like Andrew can get you now after all."

Sam glared at Dean, but subtly enough that no one else would pick up on it. "Yeah, great."

"I've got paperwork to get to, so I'll let you gentlemen get to work," Clarence said. He turned, but instead of leaving entirely, took his clipboard to one of the cafe's tables and sat down, not ten feet away from Sam's set-up.

They stared at each other for a moment. When Clarence glanced over his shoulder and smiled at them one more time, though, Dean shrugged out of his coat and handed it over to Sam with a smirk. "Can you hang that up for me?"

Sam rolled his eyes, all-around awesome professionalism, and put it on the small table he'd been given to use. It sat next to his own clipboard with an empty sign-up sheet, an equally empty tip jar, and a stack of generic business cards.

Dean lowered himself carefully onto the purple cushions of Sam's chair. He'd done the massage thing before, just not ever in a grocery store, and he already knew how to sit on it — resting his ass and chest each against a cushion, like sitting backwards in a normal chair, and then tucking his face into the circular headrest, leaning his elbows on a cushion in front of him, and bringing each leg up to place his shins on their own supports. He heard Sam moving around behind him, and snorted when he heard some new agey music start playing, chimes over the sound of a babbling creak.

"Really?"

"It'll let us talk some," Sam said, coming to stand behind Dean. "But uh, I think I'm going to have to, you know —"

"If you're old enough to do it, you should be old enough to say it," Dean said, and just as he expected, Sam snorted and then settled his hands onto Dean's shoulders, with his thumbs on the nape of Dean's neck and his fingers spread wide.

"Are there any spots you want me to work on?" Sam said, louder, and Dean rolled his eyes.

"I'll let you know," he said. Sam hummed and then actually started to work, pushing small circles into Dean's neck with his thumbs and then moving them to join the rest of his fingers, working over his shoulders. Dean closed his eyes, a little surprised with how good it felt, and heard Sam shift his feet before pushing down harder.

"So, the deli?" Sam asked.

"Yeah," Dean said, arching up a little into Sam's hands as he started smoothing his way down Dean's back. He kept his thumbs close to Dean's spine and rubbed circles beside each of Dean's vertebrae. It was almost weird, since it made Dean focus on a part of his body he didn't usually pay attention to, and although the pressure came close to being painful, Dean's back felt looser and more relaxed with each swipe of Sam's hands.

"Seriously, what about the deli?" Sam asked a few minutes later, while he was digging his fists into the small of Dean's back. Dean frowned and wriggled a little, hoping it translated into _don't stop doing that, asshole_.

"Lots of EMF," he made himself say. "Looked like it was coming from the doors to the back of the store, but I couldn't get close enough to tell."

"None at the other end of the display case?"

"Nope."

"I'll check it out when I get back there," he said, then stopped leaning into Dean. Dean sighed, almost wanting to whimper, before Sam's hands were back, smoothing wide strokes up and down before moving to tickle over his sides. He moved gently over the sore spot on the side of Dean's ribs from when he slammed Dean sideways into a wall at Bobby's, balking at actually walking into the panic room even though it had been his idea, and then rubbed at the very edges of it — not actually pressing on the last vestiges of the bruising, but close enough to get some endorphins going, from the touch. Dean sighed and Sam brought his other hand over to that side as well.

"Sorry," he said quietly. Dean could barely hear him over the music, and he was pretty sure Clarence couldn't, either.

"Not your fault," he said.

"Still," Sam said. He worked the sore spot over for a few more minutes before smoothing his hands back to bracket Dean's lower spine again, almost brushing his waistband. "I don't know how long appointments usually go," he said eventually, sounding amused.

"How long's it been?" Dean asked, snuggling further into the face rest. He didn't know why he'd been so reluctant to do this in the first place, because it turned out to be one of the most enjoyable stunts he'd ever pulled, trying to make himself blend in.

"About half an hour."

It hadn't seemed that long, but Dean opened his eyes to peer at his watch through the opening in the headrest and found Sam was right. He groaned and straightened a little, pushing himself to sit more upright before Sam stepped out of the way and let him stand. Dean rolled his shoulders a few times once he was on his feet again and hummed when he really did feel better. He was usually only touched for that long in extreme situations — in the process of being tortured, or of being patching up, or, if it was a good day, being nicely worked over by some chick — and he stood up a little straighter.

Clarence was still at his chair when Dean glanced over, although not watching, so he took out his wallet and opened it up, then handed Sam a random gas station receipt he'd filed away. Sam rolled his eyes but put it into his own wallet, then handed Dean his coat and bottle of water from a stack in the corner.

"Complementary," he said, when Dean raised an eyebrow at it. "Massage releases toxins and all that, so the store gives out water to go with them."

Dean shrugged and cracked it open, then took a big gulp. Free was free. "I'll sweep the place one more time before I go." He shot Sam a huge grin, all fakeness. "You have a great day now."

"What, no tip?" Sam asked, grinning.

"No tips for sad endings, buddy." He smiled wider when Sam rolled his eyes, and then headed out. He made sure to bump into the back of Clarence's chair on his way out of the cafe, wrecking at least one form as his pen jumped across the paper.

.

By the time they found and took care of the butcher who'd been haunting the place, it was almost dawn, and they tumbled into their beds as soon as they made it to the motel. Dean didn't wake up until afternoon, when the western-facing room started getting full sun. Sam was still sleeping on his belly in the relative darkness on the far side of the room and Dean scowled a little as he headed to shower.

Sam was up by the time he got out, though. Their shoulders brushed together as they passed in the bathroom doorway, switching places, but neither of them said anything. Dean flipped through the phonebook looking for something to eat while he listened to the water pound on in the other room, but nothing seemed good, so he turned on the TV and waited for Sam to come out and have an opinion about the food.

Sam ran the shower for longer than Dean expected, though, and he held himself stiffly when he did come out. He had a huge bruise on his lower back, dark and purple, and Dean couldn't remember where Sam got it, but he winced anyway just looking at it.

"You do anything about that yet?"

Sam shrugged a little. Dean noticed that he didn't move his shoulders very much. "Took some Advil just now. Hasn't started working yet."

He sat down carefully at the edge of the bed and leaned forward to rest his elbows on his knees, without even putting a shirt on. Dean rolled his own shoulders, which were a little sore from the digging but overall, still nicely loose, and then shrugged and said, "Lie down." Sam raised his eyebrows, and Dean shrugged again. "C'mon, I'll return the favor."

Sam sucked at the inside of his cheek for a moment, then turned around and lay down in the middle of the bed, with his face turned to one side and his arms at his sides, palms up. He'd put on sweatpants after his shower but his skin was still slightly damp. Dean grabbed up the complimentary bottle of lotion from the bathroom and then joined Sam on the bed. When he gave someone a backrub, he usually straddled their hips, but then, Dean only gave backrubs to chicks, usually when he was trying to work up to going another round, and none of them had been sporting the sort of bruise Sam was right now. He wound up sitting next to him, his thigh bumping against one of Sam's hips. Sam sighed at the contact but didn't look up.

"Anything else hurt?" Dean asked, while opening the lotion and squirting some into his palm.

"From digging." Sam didn't elaborate. He and Dean had done the same work, and Dean figured they both had the same aches. He smoothed his hands over the small of Sam's back first, as close as he could get to the bruise without actually touching it, and rubbed out towards his sides, pressing down with the heels of his palms. Sam sighed underneath him and so Dean did it again, pushing in harder this time. Sam just melted further, making another soft noise, and Dean grinned. He'd always been good at this.

He worked his way up Sam's spine after that, rubbing his thumbs beside each vertebra the way Sam had done to him. His fingers moved easily, essentially smoothing lotion into Sam's freshly cleaned skin, and he squirted another lotion dollop into his hands before tackling Sam's shoulders. His own shoulders hurt as he worked, full of the familiar post-hunt tenderness, and he dug into Sam's back in the same places that were giving him the most trouble: low, towards the middle of his back, and then arching up towards his arms.

Sam moaned when Dean pushed his thumbs into the spot where Sam's shoulders turned into his neck, and Dean sat up on his knees to get more leverage. The angle was bad, though, with him off to the side, so Dean swung himself over Sam's hips after all, planting his knees and digging in. He was careful to keep his weight off Sam's bruise, and Sam didn't say anything about it even when Dean sat down on his thighs as he smoothed his hands down Sam's back again.

"Tell me if I'm too close," he said, as he started working near the bruise, and Sam made some noise that Dean guessed was supposed to be an answer. Sam shifted around as Dean worked, which he hadn't done with Dean's hands on the rest of his back, but he didn't ask Dean to stop. Dean focused on the skin under his hands, smooth and warm as he tried to get Sam to feel good again, gradually working his way around the bruise until his fingers were underneath it, brushing against the waistband of Sam's pants as he rubbed and smoothed.

He kept going from habit, moving lower and lower, and it wasn't until Dean slipped his hands into Sam's pants, to wrap his fingers around Sam's hips and rub his thumbs into the hollows at the base of Sam's spine, that he even realize what he was doing. He'd wound up giving Sam the same backrub he gave to women, and it had ended up the same way, too — with Dean hard, rocking himself slightly against Sam's ass, and with his hands down his pants.

Sam still hadn't said anything about it.

"Uh," Dean said. He didn't freeze, exactly, but he stopped moving, and he didn't take his hands away, either. "Sammy, you."

"Hmm?" Sam tried to look over his shoulder at Dean, which made his back tense up, shining with traces of lotion in the motel's lamplight, as his muscles flexed for him. "S'good. Why're you stopping?" he asked, slurring his words.

"Uh," Dean repeated. He pulled his hands free, moving slowly so the elastic of Sam's pants wouldn't slap him in the ass, and then moved off of him. His hands were still slick and slippery, his dick was still hard, and he thought about getting up to go jerk off into the sink. Sam kept shifting his hips into the mattress, though, and now that Dean wasn't sitting on top of him, keeping him from moving too freely, he could see that Sam wasn't _shifting_ so much as he was thrusting. He'd been rubbing his cock against the bed the whole time Dean had had his hands on him, the whole time Dean had been rubbing his own cock against Sam, and Dean looked over his shoulder at the bathroom door before stretching out on his side, next to Sam.

Sam turned his head to face Dean and opened his eyes slowly. His mouth was open and his bottom lip was red and wet, like he'd been chewing on it. He was still breathing steadily — Dean liked to think he would have noticed if Sam had been panting under him, but maybe he wouldn't have — but he'd tucked the arm on this side of his body under himself, and Dean glanced down to see that Sam's sweatpants were angled across his hips, pushed down under his body.

"Sammy," Dean said, and laid one hand in the center of Sam's back again, just above the bruise. Sam closed his eyes and started thrusting with a moan, rolling his hips against the mattress again. He was moving quickly, and the muscles Dean could see on his arm were flexing and shifting under his skin.

He couldn't see Sam's dick, couldn't see anything below the waist, but Dean had caught enough glimpses of it over the years — walking into the shower when Sam was jerking off; coming back to the room early to find Sam watching porn; and years ago, finding Sam having sex, for what Dean suspected was the very first time, in the back seat — to know what it looked like. It was just a cock, uncut and wide and generally just like Dean's, but Dean closed his own eyes for a moment to imagine it.

Sam's leg jostled Dean's as he spread his knees, getting a little leverage, and then his thrusts rocked them both gently on the bed. Dean hitched one of his legs over Sam's as he rubbed his own cock on the side of Sam's thigh. When his breath caught, gasping and hitching, Dean opened his eyes in time to see Sam scrunch up his face and then come, jerking his hips into the mattress. Dean grinned, tightening his leg, and Sam groaned before smiling back.

Sam was still twitching a little with aftershocks, tiny thrusts into the bed, when Dean rolled away, onto his own back, and pushed his boxers down, taking his dick in hand. He closed his eyes, not planning on trying to make anything happen — sometimes shit got weird, but that was no reason to make it weirder — when the mattress shifted again, and Sam clambered on top of him, straddling his waist. Dean looked up and grinned when Sam wrapped one hand around Dean's, so they were both holding his dick, and took over the job of jerking him off. He tightened his grip and sped his strokes, just yanking Dean's hand along for the ride, and Dean shoved his free hand up his shirt to pinch at one nipple. Sam's fingers were sticky against Dean's. He still had come smeared all over his belly, and perhaps best of all, he hadn't pulled his pants up again. His cock was right there, still flushed and wet, and when Dean moaned, after Sam wrapped his other hand around his balls and squeezed, almost too hard, Sam's dick twitched again.

Dean ground his hips up into their hands, trying to get more of everything.

"Fuck, Dean, oh," Sam said, with his voice deep and throaty from not talking in a while, and Dean closed his eyes as he came. He took over his cock again, squeezing from the base up to his head just the way he liked it, and after a stroke or two, Sam caught on, moving his hand just the way Dean needed until he shook his head and pulled both of their hands away.

They stared at each other for a moment, each of them more or less jizz-splattered, and then Sam swallowed and climbed off Dean. He smiled, or tried to, and headed to the bathroom. Dean saw him bring his hand up to his mouth — the hand he'd used to jerk Dean off, the hand Dean had come into and onto — and lick, and then Dean rolled out of bed to follow him.


End file.
